


Showdown

by AngelofDarkness1605



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-30
Updated: 2017-07-25
Packaged: 2018-11-06 23:35:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 18,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11046672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelofDarkness1605/pseuds/AngelofDarkness1605
Summary: My entries for the Rumbelle Prompt Showdown.





	1. Fierce protection

**Author's Note:**

> 2014: round 1.

Rumplestiltskin leans back, shutting his eyes tightly. No matter how much he tells himself that this will bring him closer to finding Bae and that this will be over in a moment anyway, he tenses when the two vampires bend over him.

The Dark One can't suppress a shudder when the immortal women tilt his head with cold fingers, baring his throat, their fangs brushing his rough but vulnerable skin.

"Get away from him!"

There's a crash when the door to his turret is thrown open forcefully, revealing his maid... with a string of garlic in her hands.

"Don't touch him!"

Belle is screaming, heading straight for the creatures who are so much more powerful than her, with or without garlic.

Rumplestiltskin would have wondered at the usually so gentle woman's anger, at her unexpected and rather spectacular fierceness. But his two guests are hissing furiously at the new arrival, beyond reason by the perceived attack.

Knowing that the two immortals are about to strike, Rumplestiltskin throws himself upon his maid, going on nothing but instinct as he shields her body with his own.

Half an hour and much discussion later, the Dark One sits alone in his partially destroyed workroom, pointedly not thinking of trusting blue eyes and the softest of curves, of warm skin and slightly parted lips.

Absentmindedly running his finger over the two still visible puncture wounds on his throat, he watches Belle approach on still slightly shaking legs. This time, she is armed with bandages and a bowl of steaming water.

"Thank you, but there is no need for that," he says, disappearing his ruined coat with a mere gesture of his hand to prove his point.

"I think there is," she replies, sitting down next to him on what is left of the bench. "Let me at least thank you for protecting me. I don't even have a scratch."

"I saved myself the trouble of having to find myself a new maid, that's all."

His words are unconvincing even to his own ears. It doesn't matter though, not when Belle smiles broadly at him.

"I'm sorry for interrupting your deal, Rumple. I didn't realize that what I saw was actually meant to happen. I thought they had tricked you and that they were going to hurt you... or worse."

"As if my death would be such terrible news."

"Yes, it would be."

Rumplestiltskin means to raise a sarcastic eyebrow, but he ends up staring in disbelief at his maid instead. She just smiles at him, genuinely and infuriatingly.

"Not all kind of vampires are warded off by garlic," he remarks, saying the first thing that comes to his mind.

Belle carefully pulls up the sleeve of his blood-soaked shirt, examining the not entirely mended cut she reveals underneath. He was... sloppy when healing himself, still thinking of having her so very close to him, even when concluding the intended deal with his two immortal visitors after all.

"I know," she replies. "But it was the only thing I could think of in such short time. I got... worried when you stayed with... them for so long. When I came to take a look, they seemed ready to bite you. I couldn't think of anything else."

He doesn't know what to think of the sudden redness on her cheeks when she refers to the two immortal women... or the fact that Belle risked her life for him.

"I suppose I should have told you that I made a deal for their venom, and for the safe... transfer of it. The venom needs to be stored in a living host and since it can't harm me while..."

Rumplestiltskin forgets whatever he meant to say when Belle runs a damp cloth over his injured arm, leaving him gasping.

The wound stings only barely; it's the warmth of her gentle hands that has his breath catching in his throat... to have her tending to him as if he were a prince rather than a beast.

"Just tell me such things in advance, will you?"

All Rumplestiltskin can do is nod obediently, watching in disbelief when she expertly bandages his arm. Somehow, she's not reluctant at all to touch his bare skin, even though it looks particularly monstrous in the firelight.

"Your shirt is in the way," she says matter-of-factly when she has worked her wonders on his lower arms, pulling meaningfully at the ruined material still covering him. "Let me help you with the cuts on your back?"

He can only nod in confirmation, in cautious anticipation, before they are pulling the remains of his shirt over his head.

There is nothing but determination and purposefulness in her actions when she begins to wash the skin she has uncovered, cleaning the blood from his mostly healed back. Her gentleness causes a lump in his throat, goosebumps all over his skin and an unfamiliar warmth deep inside of him.

Her movements gradually become slower, almost tender... as if she enjoys the caress of the cloth over his bare skin as much as he strangely does.

It's more worrying than anything the vampires could have done to him.

Rumplestiltskin closes his eyes, quivering and gasping, basking in the unfamiliar sensations for as long as she is willing to give them.

"All done," she says at length, moving away from him and dropping the cloth back in the bowl with by now pink water.

Almost immediately, Rumplestiltskin grows cold in a way that can't be undone by the pristine shirt he summons around himself to cover his torso.

He wouldn't have dared to say anything, to prolong this strange togetherness. But Belle lingers, smiling sweetly at him, as if she hopes that he will invite her to stay.

"I know I'm perfectly safe," he blurts out, before he can think better of it, "but maybe you could stay with me for a while longer, just in case?"

"I'd like that," she replies, beaming at him, as if it's really all that simple.

Belle takes his hand and guides him to the mostly undamaged armchair by the fire. She encourages him to make himself comfortable, which is a lot easier said than done.

"I'm glad you're safe," she whispers, curling up at his side as if there's nothing remotely strange about that.

Rumplestiltskin gives up on trying to understand any of it when she rests her head on his shoulder.

Focusing on nothing but her wonderful nearness, he decides – just for now – that being with Belle maybe is truly this easy after all.


	2. Frail

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2014: round 2.

Belle finds her True Love sitting on the edge of their bed, his shoulders slumped and his head lowered. Moonlight is reflected in the long blade of the razor he appears to be holding. She has always appreciated the elegance of the tool he uses to shave himself, the same one as in their old life, but she doesn’t like it quite as much now that he’s handling it like this.

Similarly, she doesn’t appreciate the light of the moon and the stars nearly as much as she did when Rumplestiltskin didn’t need it as a reminder that he isn’t locked up in a basement cage any longer.

“Rumple?”

She sits up, switching on the light and rubbing the sleep from her eyes, not surprised when he doesn’t say anything in return. It’s hardly the first time that this has happened in the past few days, the memories of his recent captivity –his  _enslavement -_ haunting Rumplestiltskin in his sleep as much as during the day.

The fact that he has found a way to be tormented by his nightmares without immediately waking her as well, to move out of her tight embrace without her noticing, is nearly as terrifying.

Belle sighs in relief when he at least welcomes her embrace when she settles behind him, wrapping her arms around him from behind. She presses an insistent kiss against the side of his neck, moving herself as closely to him as possible.

She’s still not nearly used to the fact that Rumplestiltskin is alive... that he’s  _free._

His thick stubble is rough against her skin and although Belle doesn’t mind the unfamiliar sensation as such, his growing beard has her worried regardless.

Her usually always impeccable True Love hasn’t shaved a single time since he was freed from Zelena’s power, his cheeks back then curiously smooth for someone who had spent weeks in a cage, except for a spinning wheel devoid of even the most basic of facilities.

Rumplestiltskin hasn’t talked about it and, sensing that he needs time, Belle hasn’t asked.

Resting her chin on his shoulder, she caresses his arms, taking particular care to still the hand that keeps flicking the razor opened and closed. His movements are as restless and tense as she presumes his mind to be.

“She shaved me each morning,” he says at length, his voice quiet and so very fragile. “With the dagger.”

Belle has to suppress the wave of nausea that hits her at this new insight into what Zelena has done to him.

“I still feel the blade against my throat.” Rumplestiltskin turns to face her, quivering, the fear and horror that’s still with him for once unconcealed in his eyes. “I think I’ll never stop feeling it.”

He reaches for her and she pulls him into her arms, holding him as tightly as she can. She strokes his hair and neck, wishing that she could shield him from the past, from his own memories.

“She said that she  _had_ to do it, that I would be a... a  _beast_ if she wouldn’t. As if I should be grateful for her to...”

Belle rocks both of them lightly as he whispers against her neck, clinging to her as if she’s the last anchor between him and insanity. She realizes that that the memories of Zelena shaving him is preventing him from using the razor that he’s still holding.

“Would you like me to shave you?”

Rumplestiltskin nods, the pleading look in his eyes telling her how grateful he is that she offers this.

“I’ll get what we need,” she says, rushing to the bathroom.

The minute it takes her to gather the supplies feels like a half eternity. But when Belle returns to their bedroom, he is exactly where she left him, staring off into the distance and toying absentmindedly with the razor.

He only looks at her when she sits down next to him on the bed and tilts his face towards her, and even then his eyes are slightly unfocused and dazed.

Belle never could have imagined that she’d once be so very grateful that she has watched him shave countless of times. He was reluctant about it at first, but soon enough they both found comfort and delight in her presence as he went through this particular routine.

She has always taken enjoyment in his efficient and graceful movements, has all but memorized each and every one of them. But doing it herself rather than watching him... that’ll be something else entirely.

Preparing the shaving cream at least doesn’t give any trouble. Neither does guiding him back against the headboard, making sure that there are pillows behind his back and a fresh towel covering his pyjama shirt.

“She only used the dagger,” Rumplestiltskin says when she reaches for the brush.

Belle falters, processing his words, gasping in shock when comprehension dawns.

Her eyes fly to his jaw and cheeks, and so do her fingers, carefully examining the skin behind the coarse hair. She finds it red and irritated, the damage only revealed now that she takes such a good look at it.

“Why didn’t you say anything? If I would have known...”

“There’s nothing you could have done, sweetheart. She made me use magic to conceal it. I just kept doing that when she was defeated until it was hardly visible any longer.”

 “We should wait with this until your skin has fully recovered from...”

“Belle,  _please_...”

The last word startles her just as much as his pleading tone. He uses that particular word with her very, very rarely. 

She nods in agreement, reaching after all for the shaving cream and brush she brought. Belle covers the lower half of his face as thickly with the cream as she can.

There’s a tremble in her hands when she takes the razor from him, opening it and bringing it to his face. Subconsciously holding her breath, Belle moves the blade down his cheek experimentally, leaving a trail of smooth and slightly red skin in its wake.

Rumplestiltskin exhales noisily, closing his eyes, slightly less tense than before. Encouraged by the result so far, she wipes the blade on a cloth and continues her task, stroke after tentative stroke.

Belle hesitates for only a fraction of a second when she reaches his throat, then slides the sharp metal over the vulnerable skin as carefully as she can.

To her surprise, Rumplestiltskin relaxes further, tilting his head to provide her yet better access. His breathing becomes slower and deeper, some of the lines on his face becoming less pronounced.

It’s as if an invisible load has been lifted from his shoulders. Seeing her True Love’s like this,  _feeling_ him, real and alive, makes Belle feel the same way.

She completes the work soon after, wiping the last remains of shaving cream from his face with a clean corner of the cloth. When she applies his aftershave, both of them breathe in the familiar scent deeply.

Rumplestiltskin opens his eyes, sighing contentedly. His eyes are brighter than they have been for a long time, focused exclusively on her.

His comfort, his  _happiness_ , is making him look more different than any facial hair ever could.   

Drinking in the sight of him isn’t quite enough for Belle. She leans over him, cradling one of his smooth cheeks in her hands, caressing it with her thumb, and brushing her lips against the other.

“Thank you,” he whispers, his voice hoarse with what she knows to be unshed tears.

“You’re welcome,” Belle simply responses, beyond relieved that she’s able to help her True Love like this... that he  _lets_ her.

He turns his head questioningly and she gratefully meets his lips to share the gentlest of kisses, the first of this kind of contact he has initiated since he regained his freedom. 

Feeling closer to him than she has for far too long, she withdraws only when her neck starts to ache from the slightly uncomfortable angle. The small smile on his face that she can now see rather than feel is the most beautiful thing she has beheld for a long time.

“Let’s go back to sleep,” she proposes. After all, it’s still dark outside and they haven’t had much rest in the past weeks... the past months, really.

“Yes,” he replies, switching off the light, their bedroom illuminated by nothing but moonlight once more.

Rather than turning to the window, Rumplestiltskin lies down facing her, an unspoken invitation in his eyes. Eagerly accepting it, she moves towards him, guiding his face to the crook between her neck and shoulder.

Belle twines a hand in his hair as her True Love burrows into her, caressing the nape of his neck and savouring his steady breath against her skin.

Within moments, both of them drift back to for once undisturbed sleep, soothed by the knowledge that Rumplestiltskin is finally truly free.


	3. Treasure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 2014: round 3.

"Are you going to tell me what this is for?"

Belle halts before her master, both thrilled and rather alarmed. She has grown fond of Rumplestiltskin in a way she never thought she would, but standing in the courtyard of the Dark Castle before sunrise while wearing man's trousers beneath her dress on his explicit request is not exactly making her comfortable.

"We're going on a little excursion, dearie," he says, his giggle too shrill to be sincere. It's without malice though, so Belle waits patiently when he purposefully snaps his fingers.

Two horses come running towards them out of the darkness, but her focus is on the ancient looking piece of parchment that appears in a cloud of purple smoke at the next theatrical flourish of his hand.

"Are we going to look for something?" she asks excitedly, peering at the paper. She's never actually seen a treasure map, but she imagines that they look like this.

"I am. You can join me, if you'd like."

"I'd love to!" she exclaims, beaming at the Dark One.

"Let's be on our way then."

Her smile falls when he takes the reigns of one of the horses and hands them to her.

"I'm afraid I can't go with you," she says, her shoulders sagging. "I can't ride a horse."

"A lady who can't ride a horse?" Rumplestiltskin asks, more curious than mocking.

"Horses were only for soldiers," she replies, shivering when she thinks back on the war. "And in the end, when there was nothing else... we ate them."

"I... I could teach you," he says, his voice both lower and softer than she's ever heard it before.

"I'd like that very much. But that'll take time and I suppose you want to leave as soon as possible. But maybe..." She looks around, her mind scrambling for a way to join him right now after all. "Maybe one horse can carry us both? I could just sit behind you, if you don't mind?"

"These horses are certainly strong enough, but..."

"I'd really like to," she adds, thinking of the adventure that's almost within reach.

"If you are certain..."

Belle nods firmly. The next thing she knows, Rumplestiltskin lifts her up. His possibly magically enhanced strength doesn't surprise her, but the gentleness of his hands at her waist most certainly does.

He avoids her gaze when he carefully places her astride the horse's back, the saddle beneath her expanding and a second pair of stirrups appearing within a swirl of purple smoke. She pulls up her skirt so she can sit down, very grateful for the trousers he insisted her to wear.

He easily maneuvers himself in front of her on the horse, taking the reigns and handing the map to her.

"Here we go. Don't fail me, dearie."

He clicks his tongue and the horse carrying them sets itself in motion. Wondering at the nervous edge of his teasing remark, Belle is startled by the sudden movement.

"Being turned into a toad is the least of your worries if..."

Needing something to hold on to, she ends up grasping his side with her free hand. Although he doesn't slow the pace, Rumplestiltskin abruptly goes very, very quiet.

Taking a first proper look at the worn map she's been given, Belle just smiles deeply while they ride towards the sunrise.

~

They return to the Dark Castle many hours later. Although they are empty-handed and tired, Belle couldn't be happier. Looking for treasure with the Dark One was more exciting and fun than anything else she's ever done... and now she's confidently riding the horse while Rumplestiltskin sits behind her, his arms around her ever so lightly.

She inwardly sighs in disappointment when they reach the gate and he easily slides off the horse, making an end to his careful embrace.

He offers her his hand, but Belle gets off the horse not nearly as gracefully as he did. Despite his support, she loses her balance before both her feet are back on the ground. She stumbles into Rumplestiltskin, his arms rapidly moving around her to balance both of them. Her arms go around his neck intuitively, locking themselves around the nearest thing to hold on to.

"Thank you," she says, whispering. Speaking is not as easy as it used to be now that she finds herself face to face with the Dark One, a mere hairbreadth between them.

"You're welcome," he replies, his voice just as soft. He looks at her, _stares_ at her, as if it's the first time he truly sees her.

He doesn't let go of her, and neither does she.

Belle wonders whether his eyes have always been this huge and his hands so warm, almost _loving_... and why she is far from bothered by the feeling of his rapid breath against her skin, the way her breasts are pressed lightly against his chest.

Rumplestiltskin doesn't move, just stands there, scrutinizing her. Now that she thinks of it, he's been like this all day, just following her when she deciphered clues and changed direction, never taking those endless eyes off her.

Indeed, he didn't look for the treasure himself and wasn't upset or even surprised when they didn't find it.

"There never really was a treasure, was there?" she asks, realization dawning. "Or a real map, for that matter."

"Of course there was a treasure," he proclaims, not quite looking at her, his hands fluttering. "The map said so. It was just an awful surprise that it wasn't actually there."

" _Rumplestiltskin_..."

"There was no treasure," he replies after a long moment, looking guilty for the first time in the months she has known him, "and the map is fake. I just..."

He peeks at her, looking away again right after meeting her intent gaze.

"I wanted to spend time with you and I thought that might be acceptable for you if I offered you a safe adventure. This... this was the best I could think of."

He lowers his head again, Belle's heart aching at the implication of his words.

"I loved going on an adventure with you, Rumplestiltskin. I'd very much like to do something like this again. I only wish that you would just ask. There's no reason at all to go about it like this."

She pauses briefly, his look of hopeful disbelief both a distraction and an encouragement.

"In fact, I'd enjoy talking to you or sitting with you when you spin just as much. All you have to do is ask."

Rumplestiltskin gapes at her as if the notion that she likes spending time with him his utterly incomprehensible... but he doesn't object.

"Let's go inside," she says, taking his hand to guide him back into the castle. "It's getting cold here."

Belle intended to bring him to the main hall and leave him by his spinning wheel, but she doesn't want to go to her bedchamber just yet when she sees his large armchair by the already roaring fire.

He sits down there when she gestures for him to do so, his unblinking gaze still on nothing but her. It persuades her to seek the nearness she has missed since he helped her from the horse.

She steps towards him, taking careful note of his widening eyes and the hitch of his breath. He tenses visibly, but his disbelieving nod encourages her to continue.

Belle has always associated bravery with heroism and sacrifice, but she never felt as courageous as when she clambers onto the chair - onto _him_.

The trousers she's wearing permit her to just pull up her skirt, enabling her to comfortably straddle his upper legs.

His breath is racing, and so is hers, their gazes locked and both of their chests heaving in the limited space between them.

" _Thank you_ ," she whispers, thoroughly grateful that he has given her what she always thought she could only have in books.

But as much as she enjoyed their treasure hunt, with or without actual valuables, _this_ is what she appreciates the most.

She rests her hand on his chest, feeling his heart beat wildly beneath his shirt. Rumplestiltskin swallows heavily, his breath ragged, and covers her hand with his own.

Belle shifts until she is leaning against him, her head resting on his shoulder and their joined hands still right above his heart. The tentative nudge of his nose against her neck has her shivering.

She closes her eyes in contentment when Rumplestiltskin settles his other hand on her waist and buries his face into her neck, pulling her closer to him ever so slightly.

Gradually relaxing in one another's embrace, it appears to Belle that the two of them have found something very worthwhile after all.


	4. Struck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 2014: round 5.

Belle rushes through the dark streets of Storybrooke, rain falling down heavily from the dark clouds overhead, obscuring her vision. She regrets not leaving the Miner's Day Festival any sooner, before the storm erupted, making an abrupt and unannounced end to the hot summer night. Still, she'll be home soon, and...

The flash of lightning is so bright that her surroundings are perfectly illuminated for a fraction of a second, revealing unfamiliar houses through a curtain of water. Surely, under usual circumstances she would recognize the street she must have accidentally turned into.

But the rain is beating down on her, harsh cold wind tugging at her soaked sun dress as deafening thunder rolls over town. Rather than reaching her home next to the library, finding shelter as soon as possible seems by far the best option now.

There's a flicker of light on her right-hand side, barely visible through all the water falling from the sky. Belle moves towards it, stumbling over the slippery stairs she encounters on her way.

She heaves a sigh of relief when she reaches a porch, the roof overhead providing some much needed respite from the rough weather.

"Miss French," a voice from behind her says before she can decide what to do next, "you might as well come in now that you've invited yourself here."

Belle gasps, recognizing the voice immediately.

"Mr. Gold!" she cries out, turning around to face the owner of whose house of all places she must have ended up at. "There's no need for that. I wouldn't want to bother you."

"You already have," he says, opening the front door further. His face is unreadable. "I'd hate to find your corpse on my doorstep tomorrow morning."

"I don't want to impose..."

Unlike many others in town, Belle isn't afraid of Mr. Gold. Which doesn't quite mean she trusts him.

"Scared of the old monster, dearie?"

The slight hint of self-depreciation in his voice persuades her.

"I don't see any monsters here," she replies, her decision made. For just a moment, Mr. Gold seems surprised by her choice.

He halts her right after she has stepped into probably the most mysterious house in town, the summer day's warmth that lingers there enveloping her.

"Wait here," he says, gesturing at the pool of water that gathers at her feet.

By the time Belle realizes that the thin fabric of her light dress clings indecently to her body, he is heading up the stairs already.

He returns a minute later with several towels and articles of clothing.

"I hope these fit you... I'm not quite prepare for events like these," he says, not unkindly. Mr. Gold doesn't look at her and heads back to what must be his living room before she can reply. "The bathroom is upstairs, third door on the right."

Belle wraps a large, surprisingly fluffy towel around herself and wipes the floor before heading upstairs. Examining the items she's holding, she finds that he has given her a white undershirt and a dressing gown. Both are undeniably his.

Locking the bathroom door behind her, she doesn't allow herself to consider the fact that she's in the landlord's bathroom and that she's about to change into  _Mr. Gold's_ clothes.

The notion would usually make her uncomfortable at the very least, but she's cold and drenched. Besides, he has been civil so far – just like he has always been in his limited interactions with her.

Intendedly ignoring his personal belongings around her, Belle slips out of all her wet clothes and dries herself thoroughly.

There's however no way she can give any of her garments the same treatment. A little devil within her reminding her that Mr. Gold will never know, she forgoes underwear and just pulls on his white shirt and wraps the last dry towel around her waist.

Lastly, she puts on the black dressing gown. Unlike the obviously washed shirt and towels, this item of clothing carries a not unpleasant scent that must be his.

Belle heads back downstairs a little uncertainly, questioningly knocking on the door he disappeared behind earlier. After all, she doesn't exactly know how to behave in the home of the reclusive yet infamous landlord and pawnbroker.

"Enter," he says, almost making her feel as if she were a servant and he a castle's lord.

That feeling is forgotten as soon as she opens the door and gets her first look of Mr. Gold's living room.

Nothing she has ever seen can quite compare to the sight that greets her. She's somewhat aware of the man himself, bowed over a doubtlessly antique table in a corner. He appears to be working on a watch that's probably at least as old, a large glass of what might be cherry limeade on the table in front of him.

Belle is rather certain that her mouth falls open when her eyes find the back of his living room. The wall is covered by shelves from floor to ceiling, each of them carrying more books than she owns herself, and perhaps even more than she has in her library.

There's a crash louder than any she's heard that evening, probably louder than she has ever heard. She cries out in shock, but the worst is yet to come.

When everything is quiet once more, she can't see anything anymore.

It takes Belle a moment to realize that the lightning must have hit somewhere and that the power is gone, leaving Mr. Gold's living room – and the rest of the world, by the looks of it – in sheer darkness.

"Are you all right, miss French?"

"Yes, I'm fine," she replies after a few seconds, almost having forgotten that he is here as well. "And you?"

"Quite well, thank you. I'll go find some candles."

She nods, not quite realizing that he can't see that. But being surrounded by nothing but darkness in a strange room makes her feel disorientated and dizzy, causing her to lose her balance.

Belle regains her footing soon enough, managing not to crash into any priceless antiques – only for Mr. Gold to bodily bump into her a second later.

There's no realizing that she must have accidentally stumbled into his way. There's only adrenalin and shock and well,  _him_ as both of them struggle for support.

Once again, they manage to remain standing, if barely so, and Belle finds herself pressed against what must be Mr. Gold's chest, his arms locked tightly around her waist and her hands digging into his shoulders.

"Miss French..." he breathes, the sound of his voice so very close to her.

It's significantly more difficult to remain standing now that there's two of them, if only because it's much more difficult to think, to  _focus,_ now that he is so close to her.

His breathing is warm against her cheek and there's no mistaken that the scent on the dressing gown she's wearing is indeed his, mesmerizing and strangely enjoyable.

Judging by the way he all but holds both of them upright, her knees suddenly quite useless, Mr. Gold is stronger than she assumed he would be – and much more gentle.

"Maybe we should sit down..." she offers, her body and mind alike reeling.

"Yes, yes..."

Another flash of lightning offers them just enough illumination to move towards a couch, both of them still holding on to one another.

They settle down quite gracefully, all things considered. Mr. Gold doesn't let go of her arm and she is happy to keep her hand on his side, his presence the only thing anchoring her in this pitch-black world.

"Miss French?!"

Only then Belle becomes aware that she has rested her head on what must be his shoulder.

"Just trying to make myself comfortable," she says shakily, somewhat aware that she's all but cuddling the most feared man in town. "I'll... stop."

"No, it's fine," he hastily replies, the tension within him belying his statement.

She concedes when he pulls her slightly closer towards him.

They huddle together as the storm rages onwards outside, Storybrooke reduced to his rapid breath and what must be the pounding of his heart.

"I was wondering," Belle blurts out, trying to reconcile the reputation of Mr. Gold with the man who is currently holding her carefully, almost... tenderly. "You seem to always want something in return. What is the price of you letting me stay here?"

"Consider it a favor," he replies, his voice oddly hoarse. "Good companionship is... difficult to come by."

"I... I enjoy your company too, Mr. Gold," she mutters, not knowing what to say.

There's no reply but a hesitant hand on the small of her back.

Despite the awful storm and the highly unusual circumstances feeling safer and more cherished than she has in a long time, Belle unabashedly snuggles deeper into Mr Gold.


	5. On a winter's day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 2015: round 1.

She isn't surprised when she sees a by now very familiar figure sitting on a bench at some distance from hers when she looks up from her book. It seems like he' _s_  practically always there when she's outside her new home, such as in the park where she is now.

He doesn't try to hide his presence, not really, often being just within sight with his cane and black coat and intent eyes, but he has never approached her either.

Mr. Gold is what everyone calls him. She has no idea why, but she has the strange feeling that the name doesn't quite suit him, that it is  _wrong_.

They call her Belle. That doesn't seem quite right either, if only because one might expect to be able to remember their own name.

There is much more that she doesn't remember, only being told that she's supposed to know more than four walls, a strict nurse and woman with cruel eyes when she was freed from the asylum.

Was it twenty-eight days or twenty-eight years ago? She doesn't really know. Time is a strange concept.

The man –  _Mr. Gold –_  watches her, always watches her, but not in the way that the woman –  _Mayor Mills,_ who still reminds her of an evil queen _–_  ever did. He also doesn't watch her like she is crazy, like almost everyone else does.

Is he drunk? Is he mentally unstable, like she was supposed to be? She has no way of knowing, the real world making a whole less sense to her than the asylum ever did.

She  _does_ know that, in a way she can't explain, she likes the way he looks at her, almost as if he's protecting her from a distance.

She knows that because she watches him like he watches her. She has watched him since she first caught him watching  _her_ , right after she was freed from the asylum, when a woman called Emma – that name  _does_ sound right - was looking for "skeletons in the mayor's closet", whatever that means.

There were no skeletons in what turned out to be the basement of the hospital – just her. Still, the way he looks at her sometimes almost makes her feel like one, like she is something from another life that came back to haunt him.

The strange thing is that, if anything, he seems to be  _grateful_ for it.

Looking back at the book she's reading, she thoughtfully flips back to the first page, marking her current spot carefully with a chilly finger.

_It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife._

There it is, the very first line of the novel. She has read it as often as the rest of the book, feeling like she knows Elizabeth Bennet better than any real person, including herself. Looking back at him however, that line suddenly holds a quite different meaning.

She knows that he must be rich, because he's got a shop with countless shiny things. He always wears very nice clothes as well, and he has a big car and a very large house.

Once she was freed from the asylum, came to a world where she thought she didn't posses a single thing, it turned out that she owned an apartment with furniture and curtains and paintings, and clothes and many,  _many_  books. She isn't certain of it, but she is increasingly convinced that he, for some reason, transferred some of his wealth to her.

She knows he's single, too. Just like her, he's usually alone. Everyone says no one can ever love him. For some reason, she isn't convinced that's true. They also say she should stay away from him, that he's  _dangerous_ , but she doesn't think so either.

She has wondered whether he's in search of a wife. That's what people do outside the asylum after all, she has learned: find someone to love and have a family.

For the first time, she wonders whether he might like  _her_ to be his wife.

She thought that she wouldn't ever wanted to be attached to anyone, to be as  _free_ as she can be now that she's out of the asylum, but the notion of having him as a husband isn't unappealing.

Sitting there on her favorite bench in the park, she wants to do more than just watch him back. Something inside of her tells her that bravery will follow if she does the brave thing.

It's time to find out whether she can like him how one might love a significant other, and whether he has any such intentions towards her.

Sensing that this is the moment of truth, she decides to call him over.

"Mr. Gold?"

Despite the distance between them she can tell that his eyes widen, yet more tension than usual appearing in his ramrod straight posture.

"Would you like to come sit here with me?"

"I... I'm sorry for disturbing you, Miss French," he says, already moving to stand up, struggling with his cane. "I'll be on my way."

_Miss French_. Now that's another name that just isn't quite right.

"Wouldn't you like to come sit with me?" she asks, disappointed that he didn't even answer her question.

"Wouldn't you mind if I did?"

"I  _asked_ , didn't I?" she asks, confused by this world and the people in it.

"That you did."

He walks over to her, leaning heavily on his cane. When he sits down next to her, he leaves as much space between them as the bench allows.

Then there's silence. She still got no idea how she's supposed to strike up a conversation. It appears that he doesn't know, either.

"You can call me Belle," she eventually blurts out.

" _Belle_ ," he repeats, as if trying out the sound of it.

The name she's supposed to have only truly feels hers now that it's coming from his lips.

"Do you like to read, Belle?" he asks, gesturing at the novel she's still holding, not offering her his given name in return.

"I do, yes. I love it more than anything."

She can't explain the way she is drawn to the words printed on the paper, introducing her to yet more unfamiliar worlds, in the same way she can't explain why there seem to be tears welling in his eyes. A shiver runs through her at the sight of it.

"You must be freezing," he exclaims, nothing but worry in his gaze when he looks at her thin coat, the one she favors over the two thick ones.

"I'm very comfortable, thank you. It's barely colder here than in the asylum and I've never had a coat before, especially not one as nice as this one."

She scrutinizes his expression, but there's nothing that gives away whether he was the one who acquired them for her. There's only what must be sadness and anger, the latter not directed at her.

Although the word he mutters in response is unintelligible, although it makes no sense whatsoever, she just knows that he says  _sorry._

"I think I could be more comfortable if I sat closer to you," she says after another moment. She loves the feeling of the cool wind in her hair and against her skin, but she imagines that sharing some of his warmth will be very lovely too.

That's how they both wordlessly scoot away from the edges of the bench, meeting in the middle.

"Would you like to read to me?" she asks, sudden inspiration striking. "My eyes are getting tired; I'm not used to looking at anything for so long."

"It would be my pleasure," he says, carefully taking the book from her. "Where would you like me to start?"

"At the beginning?" she suggests questioningly.

She has just reached one of the last chapters, but she figures that they can spend a lot more time together if he begins with the very first chapter.

"That sounds like the best place to start," he replies, giving her a small, beautiful smile before focusing on the written words.

When he starts to read aloud, a peacefulness comes over her like she couldn't have imagined before. His voice is comforting in a way she didn't know anything could be, and so is his nearness as their knees and shoulders brush ever so lightly.

By the time he reaches the end of the first chapter, her head rests on his shoulder and one of his arms is very lightly wrapped around her waist. She doesn't care whether that's part of becoming wife and husband, because the world feels considerably more right than it ever did before.


	6. Elevation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 2015: round 2.

Belle is awoken abruptly by a loud knocking on the door of her 'room' in the dungeons. Despite the sleep clouding her mind, she hastily shoves her thin blanket aside and gets up from the cot where she spends her nights. After all, it can only be her master who is waking her so urgently.

She stumbles to the door of the dark room, shivering in the cold air. He must have terrible news to show up so early, probably having to tell her something that can't wait until she gets up.

When she opens the door - after her first day in the Dark Castle, it has always been unlocked - Rumplestiltskin is indeed standing there. He's already dressed in tight leathers, the softest of silk and spiky dragonhide, his eyes widening with shock when he sees her.

When she glances down herself in confusion, she finally realizes that she's still in her nightgown… and that she's also still wearing her recent addition to her nightclothes. Blushing furiously, she can't meet his gaze now that she has been caught like this.

"Is that… is that _mine_?!"

"It… it is," she stammers. She _knew_ it wasn't a good idea for her to wear one of his nightshirts to bed, but it had been discarded in his bedroom anyway and it is so cold in the dungeon… and his scent lingered on the plain white cotton, as enchanting and mysterious as the sorcerer himself.

Belle was aware last night that she shouldn't actually wear the nightshirt she took earlier that day, but it fit so perfectly over her nightgown. It also allowed her a closeness to the layered man who unknowingly saved her from a life as a dutiful, thoroughly unhappy lord's wife that the sorcerer himself never grands her.

Still, it was almost unavoidable that Rumplestiltskin would find out about it sooner or later. She just hadn't thought that it would have been _this_ quickly, or that she would still be wearing the shirt when he did.

The silence grows longer and longer, and eventually she looks up to meet his gaze after all, hoping to establish some sort of communication that way. Never before has the strangeness between them been so… well, _strange_. It's like there's some sort of language barrier between them, despite the fact that both of them master several identical languages.

"Have I given you so little to do that you wish to wash the same item _twice_ before returning it to me?" he asks at last, pointing a playfully accusing, trembling finger at her.

"No, not at all," she mutters, lowering her gaze once more as the heat in her cheeks increases. "You left this shirt for laundering yesterday. I do the laundry only tomorrow."

She doesn't see it, but she doesn't need to have her eyes on him to know that his Adam's apple is bobbing, his fingers fluttering nervously as he shuffles on his feet.

"Highly efficient," he replies, his voice yet more high-pitched than it usually is when he hides behind his mask. "Is that why you think you can sleep in today?"

"I did do no such thing!" she cries out, finding it easy to speak once more after all in response to this ridiculous accusation.

"Then what do you call _this_?" he asks, conjuring the grand clock from the main hall into the dungeon with a mere flick of his wrist. To her bewilderment, it's about to strike ten. In the perpetual darkness and chilliness of the dungeon, it finally dawns on her that it appears to be much later than she thought.

She hasn't overslept a single morning in the several months she has lived in the Dark Castle, always waking up early due to the numbing cold. Thanks to the warmth that his shirt provided, she has been comfortable in her room for the first time. Consequently, she must have slept far longer than she usually does.

"I'm very sorry, I didn't mean for this to happen. It's just that I slept so nicely last night… I was a lot less cold than usual thanks to your shirt. I normally wake up early in the morning, when it's the least warm, but clearly not today. I'll… I'll get dressed and start with your breakfast straight away."

"You… you are uncomfortable here?" Rumplestiltskin asks, peering at the space behind her, more a cell than an actual bedroom.

"It's not a pleasant place to sleep, no," she freely admits.

His eyes narrow in disapproval as he surveys the place, as if he realizes only now that they are in the dungeons… as if he forgot altogether that he put her here the day he acquired her, and that she has spent her nights here ever since.

"That will not do," he says matter-of-factly, disappearing in a swirl of purple smoke before she can react.

Rumplestiltskin returns before she has entirely recovered from the surprise of the past few minutes, gesturing for her to follow him. He leads her to the third floor of the north tower, where a large door is opened widely at the end of the hallway.

"Your new room," he announces, inviting her to take a look.

Belle's mouth falls open when she steps over the threshold, every aspect of the room grander and more beautiful than she's ever seen anywhere before, from the king size bed with its thick covers to the huge cabinet, filled with a large number of new dresses, and the fire burning brightly in the fireplace.

"It's _gorgeous_ ," she breathes, mesmerized that he has given her a room that would befit a queen. "Thank you _so_ much."

She would have thrown all caution in the wind to hug Rumplestiltskin to show her gratitude - and to feel his body flush against hers - if he wouldn't have stepped further away from her in that instant.

"From now on, you'll start at eight o'clock rather than at six. I can't have my maid oversleeping again."

That's by far the most ridiculously wonderful 'logic' she has ever heard, but there's no time to consider it, for the sorcerer points intently at the nightshirt she's still wearing.

"I'll be needing that back."

"Of course," Belle says, not quite managing to hide her disappointment that she'll have to part from his shirt. Despite everything he just gave her, she feels bereft when she pulls it over her head.

Only when he is staring at her once more, his wide eyes lingering on her chest for just a moment, it dawns on her that she undressed to her nightgown in her master's presence… and that it doesn't make her feel uncomfortable in the slightest.

"Don't be late again," he snarls eventually, before all but fleeing down the hallway.

Belle heads to the large bed that is now hers, intending to sink down on it and ponder what just happened. Instead, she returns to the hallway when the sound of his hurried steps abruptly ceases.

He is at the end of the hallway, his back towards her, but there's no denying that he presses the nightshirt she just wore to his face, inhaling deeply.

She must have been unable to hold back her surprised delight at the sight, for Rumplestiltskin turns around abruptly, his nose still buried in the fabric… revealing the most interesting shade on his face when he finally lowers the shirt.

It gives her the courage to voice the request she wanted to make from the moment she gave his shirt back.

"Can I have another one of your nightshirts?" she asks, not daring to add that she'd prefer an unwashed one.

"Isn't it enough that I gave you this _warm_ room?" he replies, sounding more nervous than anything else.

"What makes you think I want to wear anything other than your shirt now that I can sleep in this wonderful room?" she blurts out, with courage she didn't know she had.

She may have thought that he was blushing before, but that's nothing compared to the way his cheeks grow darker when he makes another nightshirt appear, right in front of her. It's the one with the slightly loose button she put on his bed yesterday to replace the one he's currently holding… the one he must have worn last night.

"You'd better get back to work this very instant," he grumbles, the last word barely said before he disappears in another cloud of magic.

Smiling broadly, Belle reverently touches the still slightly warm cotton. She has learned something new about the man behind the mask of the imp. Her increased insight into Rumplestiltskin makes her only more determined to find out all there is to know about the man with whom she is more than happy to spend the rest of her life.


	7. Knight without shining armor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2015: round 3.

Rumplestiltskin knows very well that he shouldn't take his maid with him to one of his deals, but Belle is far too persuasive for her own good. Worse yet, it may be entirely possible that he  _likes_ taking her on an adventure… that he enjoys making her happy.

The earlier established rules that the two of them only go somewhere far from her father's village, that there's no touching anything and that both of them must obscure their faces at all times very quickly turn out to be spectacularly inadequate when they simultaneously spot a horribly familiar knight.

Next to a muddy field where several young men are boxing against each other at a tourney, two heavily armored men are clashing swords inside an arena. One of them was a flower until a few weeks ago, when the Dark One decided that he might as well free and retransform the withering rose back into a healthy knight before his ever inquisitive maid might once more find out something that she shouldn't.

"Gaston!" Belle gasps, rushing towards the arena.

The deal he's supposed to make immediately forgotten, Rumplestiltskin follows her into the noisy, tightly packed audience. Reaching Belle's side, he's just in time to witness his maid's fiancé - he supposes that, technically, they're still engaged - raise his arms in triumph.

Unable to decipher the look on her hooded face, the Dark One is very much aware of the appreciative comments and looks from the other women in the crowd when the tall knight throws his gauntlet on the ground next to the motionless body of his opponent, wordlessly challenging a next competitor.

The knight smirks proudly when no other rival steps forward, doubtlessly assuming that there is no one left to challenge him. It makes Rumplestiltskin seethe, reminding him painfully of all the arrogant knights, dukes and captains who mistreated him in the past.

Before he can reconsider, before he can  _think_ , a discreet flourish of his hand transforms him into a humanlike being. A second gesture leaves him in tight, smooth leathers and a loose cotton shirt, and with a small wooden shield and a light sword in his hands. No one in the rowdy audience notices except, not surprisingly, for Belle.

There's something in her wide eyes that makes him want to prove something he can't define. Only more determined, he easily leaps into the arena, picking up the gauntlet in acception of the knight's challenge.

Gaston snickers at the sight of him, but Rumplestiltskin has had a few centuries to get used to powerful men mocking him. Indeed, when the Dark One's curse gave him the time and the means to do so, he practiced, practiced and  _practiced_  until he could use a variety of weapons just as well as any mortal without having to use his new powers.

Back then, the seemingly useless and redundant exercises had no purpose other than to give him something to do - and to finally get over his father's and his wife's accusations that he wasn't good for anything.

For once relying on skill and determination rather than dark magic, this serves no purpose whatsoever either… but it definitely feels good to face the tall oaf, knowing that he can beat him at his own game.

Gaston wastes no time, lurching at him with a sword that's about twice as long and heavy as the weapon that the disguised Dark One is holding. Rumplestiltskin however knows better than to directly fight against the considerably taller and stronger man in full armor.

Making use of the lightness of the weapons and clothing he chose for himself, he repeatedly jumps out of harm's way just in time. Smiling mockingly at the knight each time he does so, Rumplestiltskin isn't going to attempt to actually fight the other man until exertion and the weight of his attributes has slowed him down considerably… and until the nobleman's impatience and annoyance gets the better of him.

Or at least, that was Rumplestiltskin's plan. More influenced by the thrill of the arena than he cares to admit, the sound of his maid's sweet voice cheering for  _him_  makes him less careful, almost pathetically eager to show her that he is better than her brutish fiancé.

That's how he ends up jumping away from the other man's sword just a fraction of a second too late, the cold metal slicing open his shirt and the skin underneath. Almost more bothered by humiliation than pain, he is only more determined to best the man who once was destined to become Belle's husband.

Baring his teeth, Rumplestiltskin tears the bloody remains of his shirt from his torso and tightens the grip on his sword. All his plans of seeking out the weakest spots in the knight's thick armor forgotten, he ruthlessly charges at the other man, ducks underneath his sword and slams his own weapon against the back of his opponent's knee as hard as he can.

The knight goes down with a yell of pain and shock, but hasn't been entirely defeated just yet. Knowing that Belle is watching, he kicks the other man's shield and weapon away and pins him to the ground with a foot on his chest rather than forcing his sword through Gaston's exposed throat.

Rumplestiltskin doesn't hear that he is declared winner of the fight, not when Belle rushes to him and wraps her arm around him. Dazed, he lets her guide him away from the crowded arena.

"Can't you heal yourself?" she asks worriedly, reminding him of the injury he sustained.

His magic still accessible when he is in this human form, he heals the cut on his chest with a whisper of magic.

He's only vaguely aware that she helps him lie down in long grass close to a currently deserted river. Belle takes her delicate white handkerchief to dab with tender care at the blood and dirt that remained on his chest, as if that is the most normal thing in the world.

"Is this the way you looked, before?"

His eyes burst open at her softly voiced question, then fly down his partially exposed body. Only then he realizes just what particular, once utterly familiar human form he chose in the heat of the moment.

"It is," he replies quietly, feeling as if he's wearing no clothes whatsoever.

He tenses, terrified of her reaction. Knowing that she must be disgusted by the way he usually looks is one thing, but for her to gaze upon the thoroughly underwhelming frame of the man he once used to be is quite another.

And yet, there's no loathing or even disappointment in her expression when her eyes roam freely over his body… quite the opposite. Which is, in its own way, yet more unnerving.

"Do you like what you see, dearie?"

Even to his own ears, his voice is hoarse, human and pathetically hopeful.

"Yes," she simply says, gently wiping the sweat from his brow.

Bewildered, he can only lie there as she continues her ministrations.

"You're my hero, Rumple," she adds, without a trace of mockery or insincerity. "And not just because you are probably the first to ever beat Gaston."

Those words make him wonder, make him  _hope._  He can't allow that, for there's no way that she's implying what he wishes her to. He'd better make an end to this apparent affection as quickly as possible.

Ignoring the exhaustion in his body, Rumplestiltskin sits up to brush his lips briefly against her cheek, and again barely a second later because he simply can't resist; two stolen kisses to remind him yet more vividly of what he can never have.

He tells himself that her sharp intake of breath confirms that she's as horrified by the discovery what she can awaken with him as he presumes she is. But rather than moving away from him in shocked disgust, Belle closes the distance between them when he withdraws, firmly pressing her lips against the corner of his mouth for a magical moment. It's not quite an actual kiss, but… well, not quite a not-kiss either.

Either way, he stares at her in bewilderment, adrenaline far beyond what he just experienced in his fight against Gaston coursing through him.

"What do heroes do after they have fought for their lady?" she asks happily, as if her lips weren't against his only a few seconds ago.

"I… I don't know," he mutters, especially after what she just did having no idea whatsoever how anything of the sort takes place in those books she loves to read, let alone in reality.

"They rest in their lady's arms, of course."

When Belle pointedly gestures at a spot on her thigh which he imagines could be a wonderful pillow, he's very happy indeed to take the invitation to do just that.


	8. Caught up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 2016: round 1.

Standing in the darkest corner of the alley, Mr. Gold looks up at the apartment above the library where Belle French has moved in a few months ago, just like he hoped she would.

The reason that she did so is far less pleasant than he would like it to be, especially because his own involvement in those developments was downright selfish. The landlord tells himself  _that_ is the reason that he sneaks up the stairs to her front door, a carefully wrapped package cradled protectively under his arm.

Making certain that everything remains quiet, that she will never know that  _he_ is the one who lavishes her with gifts, he moves as stealthily as he can. He lovingly places the early edition of Jane Eyre next to her door, knowing that she will find it there the next morning, just like his previous gifts.

Determined to make his escape once more without being seen, lest she find out that it's the old, bitter, crippled and  _meddling_ beast who is quite literally leaving gifts on her doorstep.

Mr. Gold turns around and makes his way back down the stairs as soon as he has left the package on the pitch black metal platform next to her front door, only to get stuck with one of his feet in what appears to be bubblegum.

He curses under his breath despite himself. All hope of getting away in silence is gone when he accidentally kicks against a metal stair when he tries to free himself from the sticky mess beneath his shoe.

Before he can make any more attempts to get away unnoticed, three developments appear to happen almost simultaneously: the light outside her home is switched on, the door is swung open and none other than Belle French steps outside, clad in little more than a nightgown.

"Why don't you come in, Mr. Gold?" she asks matter-of-factly, her arms crossed in front of her.

There seems to be nothing he can do but do as she asks. His eyes on the stairs between them, he almost stumbles when his bad leg moves with yet more difficulty than usual due to the bubblegum he momentarily forgot.

His cheeks burning, the landlord supposes that the best course of action is to get out of his soiled shoe – and the other one as well, in an attempt not to look  _entirely_ ridiculous – and follow her into her home in his socks.

Nothing remotely like this was ever meant to happen and he has no idea whatsoever what might follow now that she has caught him, especially when she directs him towards a couch. Despite himself, he looks around curiously, savoring the sight of the cozy living room he all but paid for but never expected to actually see.

"Care to explain what you were doing, Mr. Gold?" she asks, to his bewilderment not sounding nearly as upset as he expected when she sits down opposite him.

"I suppose I am atoning for betrayal, Miss French," he replies, noticing that her feet are bare – and very, very lovely.

"What are you talking about?!" she says, looking at him intently.

"I'm referring to your fiancé," he says through clenched teeth, horrified to be so close to the point where he is going to have to reveal to her that  _he_ is the reason that her undeserving oaf of an almost husband is out of her life.

"My  _former_ fiancé?"

Only then he notices that she isn't wearing her engagement ring any longer. Because he usually doesn't allow himself to look at her, not  _truly_ , there's no knowing how long ago she stopped wearing it. Not without asking her, at least, and obviously that is something he can never do.

In his mind, Mr. Gold has prepared this speech at least a dozen times, just in case he were to ever have to explain himself to her. No matter how much he would like it to be otherwise, in his heart he knew better than to think that Belle wouldn't find out sooner rather than later.

But now that he's actually sitting here, the words come stumbling and stuttering out of his mouth, the speech he had all but written in his head entirely forgotten.

"I've always felt that he wasn't nearly good enough for you, but I told myself that it was none of my business when the two of you got together. I was certain that you would see eventually how… unpleasant he was. But then you got  _engaged_  to him and…"

He meets her gaze at last, his eyes pleading with her to  _understand_ even as he reminds himself that, especially now, he can't tell her that it isn't mere charity which persuaded him to intervene.

"I heard the way he talked about you when you couldn't hear. About the things he wanted to do with you… the things he  _had_ done with you. But more than that… you looked so unhappy, Miss French. Whether you were at his side or not. Being his wife… I genuinely believed that it would only bring you misery."

"It's not up to you to decide that, Mr. Gold," she say calmly, her words making him wince as much as her stern tone. "Just like you oughtn't triple people's rent and threaten them until they break off engagements."

The landlord may have been uncomfortable since he was caught, but that's nothing compared to the discovery that she  _knows_ , that she has been aware all along that he is the one and only reason that Shane Gaston all but fled town half a year ago.

"All I want for you is happiness," he whispers pathetically but wholly truthfully. "I betrayed you by meddling in your life, but I thought… I tried to make it better, Miss French. I did."

It was easy enough to get the public library reopened and thus, almost by definition, for her to become both librarian and the inhabitant of the apartment he's currently sitting in. But there's nothing easy whatsoever about explaining  _why_ he did all that – not to mention the gifts he tends to leave on her doorstep – when he realized how financially insecure her fiancé's abrupt departure left her.

"I know you did. Or at least… I had my suspicions. But I wasn't certain who was giving me so much without asking anything in return until I caught you in the act. I didn't mean to start our conversation like  _this_ , but you tend to get away from me when I actually try to talk to you in town."

She looks at him as if it doesn't make sense for him to be wary of her, but she has never been more terrifyingly wonderful than right now. Especially when she stands up and heads straight towards him, sitting down next to him as if he isn't the most feared and loathed man in town.

"I am happy now, Mr. Gold. I  _am_. Thanks to you, to a large extent. But I'd be yet happier if I could from chat with you without having to put bubblegum all over the stairs outside in an attempt to catch you."

She giggles a little when he looks at her in disbelief, a sound which immediately becomes his favorite in the world.

"It's so dark outside that I can't see anything and I had a rather strong feeling that you - or whoever was leaving those gifts – would never come up close enough to be in my view if there were any lights on."

"That's… that's not the part that confused me," he says, finding that it's yet more difficult to determine whether Belle French just actually implied that she would  _like_  to converse with him now that she's sitting distractingly close to him.

"Is it so strange that I'd enjoy your gifts yet more if you were to give them to me without going through such trouble? Besides, I would love to spend time with you, whether you spoil me or not."

She may tolerate his attention in exchange for gifts, but there's  _no way_ that anyone, let alone this incredible woman, would simply enjoy the company of a man like him… except that she looks at him with undeniable expectation.

"I know it's almost midnight, but I'd love for you to stay for a while longer," she says softly, smiling hopefully while unwrapping the book which he meant to give as anonymously as their predecessors. "Do you care for a long overdue discussion on literature?"

"It would be my honor and delight," he replies, tentatively returning her smile.

Mr. Gold is not nearly as terrified any longer when he finally realizes that the woman he fell in love with a long time ago is just as shy yet eager about their relationship as he is himself.


	9. Endings and beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 2016: round 2.

Rumplestiltskin never thought that he would come to dread the ending of the dangerous journey through the snow covered mountains, but here he is.

Fleeing the village where he has spent his entire life in order to save his son from being taken to fight in the pointless war against the Ogres is by far the most terrifying thing the spinner has ever done. But since the moment Baelfire and he stumbled onto Lady Belle in the wilderness, their risky and utterly demanding journey has become almost... enjoyable.

The three of them are almost always cold and wet, they have to ration their food and they get very little sleep. They continuously have to watch out for falling rocks, slippery paths and predators of a both animal and human variety. And yet, Rumplestiltskin is happier than he has been in a long, long time.

He studies Lady Belle from the corners of his eyes as she sits by the small fire, her nose buried in her life saving book with maps. The spinner takes in the breathtaking sight of her yet more eagerly than usual now that he still can.

Tomorrow they will reach the Queen's Road. It's the end of their journey together, like they agreed almost two weeks ago, when they met and decided that it was safer for the three of them to travel together. After all, he had no idea how to get away from the Duke's men and she told him that it would be less difficult to flee her cruel fiancé, ruined lands and slaughtered family if she wouldn't have to travel on her own.

According to Lady Belle, the Queen's Road leads straight to the peace and protection of the lands of Queen Snow White and King David. They'll be safe there and there'll no longer be the necessity to travel and be together… except he'd much rather spent a considerably longer time traveling with his son and this incredibly gentle and brave woman than trying to build a new life without her.

"Would you like to read with me again?" she asks quietly, careful not to wake his son who sleeps at her side with more consideration than his actual mother has ever shown the boy.

The spinner hastily looks down, pretending that he hasn't been staring at the woman who has all but taken over his life. Although he tells himself that he  _shouldn't_ , Rumplestiltskin sits down right next to her almost immediately, despite everything as keen as he has always been to be close to her, to feel her warmth and to breathe in the scent of the book, fire and  _her_.

He barely listens when she points out things on the pages, losing himself to the so very lovely sound of her voice. If only they had more time together... a  _lifetime_ together.

"What will you do when we reach the Queen's Road?" she asks, looking at him with impossibly beautiful eyes.

"Try to pick up my old trade and hopefully give Bae and myself a better life. What about you, my lady?"

"My late father was an ally of the Queen and King. As his heir, I'm going to their court to tell him of the fate of my father and our people, and warn them of the Ogres. I just hope I won't immediately be asked for another arranged marriage now that I've broken off my engagement to Gaston."

He nods in sympathy. If only he weren't such a pathetic excuse of a man, as common and penniless as they come and a cripple to boot, the spinner would have told her that  _he_ would be more than happy to marry her, if only to keep unwanted suitors at bay for her.

All things considered, it's probably for the best that they'll never see one another again after tomorrow. At least she will never find out that he has fallen in love with her, that he desires her with a fierceness his useless body and shriveled heart shouldn't be capable of.

"What about you, Rumplestiltskin? Do you intend to find a new wife once you and your son are settled?"

"No one would have me, my lady," he says, lowering his head.

It's better than telling her that even if that weren't true, there's only one specific woman he wishes to marry.

"Nonsense! I'm certain many women would be happy to have you. You're the gentlest and kindest man I've ever met… and you're handsome, too."

The knowledge that Lady Belle wouldn't mock him leaves him staring at her in complete disbelief.

"Very handsome," she mutters, reaching for him with a questioning hand.

He can't help but nod hopefully, his eyes fluttering closed and a groan escaping him when she tenderly,  _lovingly_ , brushes her fingers along his cheek and jaw.

"Rumplestiltskin, can I..."

There's something in her voice that persuades him to open his eyes and face reality after having spend a few seconds in the bliss of what can only be a dream. But it seems he's still dreaming when she leans in to him, her eyes undeniably focused on his mouth.

Despite his conviction that he  _shouldn't_ , that nothing good can possibly come from this, the spinner nods frantically. He shudders and lets out a most pitiful sound when Lady Belle closes the distance between them, but that doesn't discourage her from kissing him.

Although he would be able to think that he has never had appropriate thoughts about the beautiful noblewoman, he has found himself thinking of tentative, gentle kisses with a frequency perhaps yet more shameful than the act itself. But those forbidden fantasies turn out to be not like reality at all.

Lady Belle firmly presses her lips against his and even moves her tongue against his with an eagerness and determination as if this is their last night alive... and well, in a way, it might as well be.

Heat and desire rushing through him, Rumplestiltskin kisses her back to the bests of his abilities, beyond thrilled and grateful that she deepens their kiss and moans in unmistakable pleasure rather than withdraw in disgust when he experimentally angles his head and seeks out her tongue with his own.

She gently ends the kiss eventually, her wide smile and radiant eyes telling him that she doesn't do so for a lack of enthusiasm... far from it.

"I don't intend to stay at the Queen and King's court," she says, entwining their fingers and resting her forehead against his. "And since it worked rather well for us so far to stay together... would you like to go on pretending that we are a family once we've found a nice place to build a new life for ourselves?"

Dizzy with the aftermath of their kiss and the possibility of such a bright future, Rumplestiltskin nods as hope and happiness of a kind he has never known before wash over him.

"Our family would be yet more convincing if it looked like we are actually married," she adds meaningfully, withdrawing two golden rings on a chain previously hidden beneath her clothing. "They were my mother's and father's."

Still barely able to believe that any of this is real, he lets her slip the largest of the rings around his finger. With trembling hands, he subsequently slides the smaller one around her ring finger in return.

"I suppose we're married now," she says, looking as if she couldn't he happier.

Before their journey together, Rumplestiltskin couldn't have imagined that he would ever marry again, let alone be wedded to a  _lady_... a very kind, brave and beautiful one at that. But as it is, it's wonderfully easy to accept both the practical and the much more personal advantages.

"Indeed," he murmurs, tentatively smiling back at her and daring to stroke her face and hair with still quivering fingers.

"Why don't we spend tomorrow night at an inn on the Queen's Road? We could get a separate, adjoining room for Baelfire and another one for just the two of us. We could… celebrate our wedding and perhaps enjoy our wedding night, if you like."

"I'd like that _very_ much," he says, blushing spectacularly but, all thanks to her, he isn't nearly as nervous about the terrifyingly wonderful prospect as he could have been.

When she kisses him again, slower this time, Rumplestiltskin happily surrenders himself to the exquisiteness of their kiss, to  _her_ _,_ and the destination awaiting them at the ending of their journey.


	10. Blue sky holiday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 2016: round 3.

Belle stretches herself in the warm sand, letting out a deeply contented sigh as she puts her book away. So far, her holiday in the quiet seaside town is exactly as she hoped it would be: she spends her days swimming, sunbathing and of course with  _lots_  of reading.

Feeling wonderfully lazy, she glances at the other people on the sunny beach. She spots a young boy playing with shells not far away from her, without a single parent or guardian in sight.

As if he feels her gaze, the boy looks up at her. She waves at him, smiling when he shyly returns the gesture and walks in her direction.

"Who is looking after you?" Belle inquires, imagining that his parents are frantically looking for him.

"They are," the boy replies, pointing at two people in the sea.

They are a tall, pretty woman and a younger, dark haired man who appears to be wearing eyeliner. They are frolicking in the water, unable to keep their hands off one another and not paying the slightest attention to the boy.

"Are they your parents?"

"That's my mama, but he's not my father. I'm normally staying with my  _real_ papa, but mama wanted to have me for the summer holiday. I don't know why, because she doesn't even  _like_ being my mama."

"At least your papa takes good care of him when he's looking after you?" she asks, her heart breaking a little.

"He does. I'm supposed to stay with mama and Killian for seven more days, but I want my papa," he says, looking at her with big, sad eyes which suddenly brighten when a thought almost visibly crosses his mind. "Maybe you can call him for me? Papa gave me a phone so I could do that myself, but mama took it. But I know his number by heart."

Any doubt she may have had to honor that request disappears when she spots his mother and her new lover walking towards the hotels, giggling and touching each other in a way that's rather inappropriate for a public setting. They clearly have entirely forgotten about the woman's son.

Taking her phone from her bag, Belle selects the number which the boy solemnly recites.

"Gold speaking," the man on the other end says curtly.

"My name is Belle French. I'm here with your son. He'd like to talk to you."

The man who introduced himself as Gold fires several none too patient questions at her while she hands the phone to his son. When the boy starts talking to him, his tone luckily becomes a lot more agreeable.

"My papa is coming to pick me up," the boy says, carefully handing the phone back to her when the conversation is over. "He'll be here in an hour. He asked if I can stay with you until then"

"Of course."

"Thank you so much, Miss French."

"Just call me Belle," she replies, endeared by his manners.

"My name is Neal Gold," the boy says, offering her a small hand.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Neal," she replies, shaking it.

"Can you read me a story?" he asks, looking at her hopefully as he points at the book which she abandoned for the time being. "I love stories, but mama and Killian don't want to read to me."

"Do you like fairy tales?" she asks, right when his stomach rumbles loudly. "And maybe you'd like a sandwich as well?"

Neal nods eagerly and she considers that a positive response to both her questions. Before she knows it, the small boy is cuddled at her side, devouring a sandwich and entirely caught up in the fairy tales.

Right when they have reached the story of Rumplestiltskin, Belle feels a shadow falling over her. She looks around to find a slight man standing right behind them, looking intently at them.

"Papa!" Neal exclaims excitedly.

The man looks harsh and stoic, standing ramrod straight, his white-knuckled hands folded on a cane in front of him. He's ridiculously overdressed for the beach, but his posture and expression alike soften when the boy throws himself in his arms.

"I'm here now, son. Everything will be fine; I'm going to take you home, with me. I'll explain everything to your mother - and to the judge."

Neal's response is muted by the expensive looking fabric that covers almost every inch of the man's body below his neck.

"Neal's mother and I are involved in a rather unpleasant custody battle," he says quietly to Belle. "Thank you for looking after him, Miss French."

"It's no problem at all, Mr. Gold. I'm just glad that I could help."

"I haven't seen him this happy for a considerable time," the father mutters, affectionately ruffling the boy's long hair.

"Papa, do you think that we can stay here for a while? I like the beach and Belle is very nice. We can build a sandcastle together!"

Mr. Gold looks like he doesn't feel like doing that  _at all_. Although she has the strong feeling that there are few people who refuse him anything, he gives in when his son looks at him with pleading eyes.

That's how Belle finds herself building a sandcastle with a father in a three piece suite and a son she both only just met. Which should probably be a lot more awkward than it actually is - or at least, until she starts to notice that Neal's father is rather handsome.

Soon enough, she's barely paying attention to the structure they're building. Instead, she's fascinated by the way he gently interacts with his son, by the elegance of his profile and the way his doubtlessly expensive, sand-covered clothes fit snugly around his lean frame… by the warmth that spreads throughout her when their hands touch accidentally.

She  _especially_  likes it when he looks at her, his brown eyes warm and light, his lips slightly curved in a ghost of a smile. Drinking in the sight of him, she wishes that this isn't the only time they get to spend together, that she can have a more permanent place in both the son's and the father's life.

"It's high time that Neal and I are going to get dinner," Mr. Gold eventually says reluctantly.

"I suppose it's getting late, yes," Belle replies with a similar lack of enthusiasm. "Maybe we can take some pictures before you go?"

She gestures at the impressive sandcastle they built, although she's inwardly much more interested in pictures of the gorgeous man and adorable boy themselves.

"Awesome idea!" Neal exclaims, snatching the phone from his father's jacket. "Come on papa, you and Belle have to be in the pictures as well."

The boy aims the phone and gestures for them to get closer several times, until Mr. Gold questioningly wraps his arm around her back. She beams at him in response, right when he looks back at her in wonder and Neal takes the first picture.

Her breath quickening, Belle has found something better yet than what she originally hoped for, namely for Mr. Gold to contact her to share the pictures - or to have an excuse to get back in touch with him if he doesn't.

Neal takes a ridiculous amount of pictures and she's grateful for it, especially when Mr. Gold slightly tightens his hold on her and pulls her lightly against his chest.

"Papa, can Belle have dinner with us if she likes?" Neal asks when he finally hands back the phone and while his father and she let go of one another.

Belle nods enthusiastically in response, and so does Mr. Gold.

"That's settled then," Neal grins knowingly.

Delighted by the invitation, Belle quickly gathers her things.

"Thanks for looking after me. You are very nice, just like my papa," Neal whispers to her as he helps her get her books in her bag. "I wish I had a mama like you. Perhaps… Papa likes you very much too, I can  _tell_."

"I like both of you very much as well," she replies, glancing up to see Mr. Gold looking at them with a small smile - and a faint blush - on his stern face. "Let's have dinner and see what happens."

Neal makes a noncommittal sound. In combination with the way he just urged his father and her to get closer, she has the distinct impression that the boy is going to play matchmaker tonight… and that she's very much looking forward to it.

"Let's go," she says when she has picked up her belongings.

Almost as if on command, Mr. Gold offers her his arm and Neal takes her opposite hand in his own. Delighted to be escorted by father and son like this, Belle happily walks along with them.


	11. Third time lucky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 2017: round 1.

Belle's relief when she enters Granny's after enduring the cold winter night outside is short-lived. She sighs when she spots both Sean Gaston and Keith Nottingham sitting there.

 _Great_.

Both of them follow her every move with their eyes, as if those two haven't bothered her enough in the past few weeks. Really, what part of "I'm not interested and will never be" is so difficult to understand?!

She is about to turn around to head for the peace of her own apartment, not quite recalling whether there's anything left in her fridge, when she meets Mr. Gold's gaze. He's sitting alone like he always does, glancing down at the empty chair next to him.

Smiling at him in gratitude, she heads to the counter to get a burger after all, thrilled by his invitation. Not even Keith and Sean are foolish enough to bother her when she's with  _him_ , not even now that the former rivals for her affections have teamed up in an attempt to... well, she dreads to think about it.

People may say that the landlord is a cruel, harsh and generally unpleasant man, but she has never experienced him doing anything to actually confirm this reputation. In fact, he has never been anything other than respectful with her – rather supportive and witty too, actually.

Not to mention he is... well,  _gorgeous_. If only he wouldn't also be utterly untouchable and forbidden.

"Good evening, Mr. Gold," she chirps when she gladly sits down with him.

"Good evening, Miss French," he acknowledges her presence quietly.

Every single patron at the diner  _stares_ at them, which Belle very much prefers to being pestered by Sean and Keith.

"Did you... did you read any interesting books today, Miss French?"

She looks up abruptly from her burger, thrilled if rather bewildered to find the landlord looking at her expectantly – and rather nervously.

"As a matter of fact, I did," she replies happily, launching in a probably overenthusiastic description.

There's no one else in town who encourages her to talk like this. She highly doubts that he's actually interested, however he nods and even  _smiles_ a little at all the right moments. It's almost as if he cares... and  _likes_ being with her like this.

She has no reason to believe that Mr. Gold has any feelings towards her of any kind, but he's unexpectedly supportive of her now. Besides, she  _thinks_ she heard him tell Sean once to leave her alone, and she is quite certain that he tripped Keith when he drunkenly tried to follow her.

"What about you? Did you work with any rare antiques in your shop today?" she asks, not only wanting to talk about herself – and  _very_ intrigued by his daily life.

"As a matter of fact, I did," he echoes her earlier words almost playfully.

His description isn't nearly as fast and keen as her own, but it's wonderful to be talking with him like this. Their deserts are eaten far too soon and when he pays for both of them, Belle realizes that Sean and Keith are both still there despite the late hour.

"Would you like me to escort you home, or wherever you wish to go next?" Mr. Gold ask, helping her into her coat.

"I'd appreciate it very much if you could take me home."

When he escorts her out of the diner, back into the snow and cold outside, she wishes that she'd live much further away from Granny's. Indeed, after he rests a warm hand questioningly on the small of her back, she wishes that they could remain like this for hours.

As it is, they arrive in the alley and the stairs leading up to her apartment within two minutes... and so do Sean and Keith a few seconds later. She tenses, not understanding what they're doing, standing there in a silent but distinctively hostile manner.

"I'll accompany you upstairs and go straight to the Sheriff to talk to her about this," the landlord says softly to her, tightening his hold on her a little.

"I really appreciate that, Mr. Gold. Thank you."

"It's no matter."

She very much thinks that it  _is,_ especially because she all but forgets about the two other men when he takes her up the stairs. The landlord keeps a careful eye on them when she unlocks her front door, shielding them from her sight and vice versa.

"I'll make certain that no harm comes to you, Miss French."

His voice is lower than before, hoarser too, and there's a sudden ache inside of her. Overcome by longing, she wishes that they wouldn't have to say goodbye just yet... that she could enjoy yet more of him than his delightful conversations and respectful, comforting touches.

Very much aware that Sean and Keith are seeing and hearing everything they do, it occurs to her that perhaps they can kill two birds with one stone.

"Mr. Gold?" she asks very quietly.

"Yes, Miss French?"

"I was just thinking... if you were to kiss me right now, right here, that might be a more effective way to get rid of those two than getting the Sheriff involved."

She looks at him apprehensively, increasingly aware how very much she actually wants him to do this – for reasons which have very little to do with Sean and Keith.

"You... you want me to  _kiss_ you, Miss French? To give a signal to..."

"Yes, but also because... well, simply because I'd really like you to."

His expression of disbelief and delight alike only making her more eager to kiss him, Belle steps closer to him and caresses his face with trembling fingertips. His eyes flutter as he leans in to her touch, groaning softly in unmistakable delight.

Her eyes focused on his partially open mouth, she sighs happily when he reaches for her hair, caressing it with a gentleness which almost brings tears to her eyes.

Very slowly, as if not truly believing that she actually wants to do this, Mr. Gold leans in to her. When he makes no move to close the last few inches between them, she does so herself, gasping when their mouths meet for a tender kiss.

Their lips merely brush at first, but as he all but whimpers her name against her mouth, she presses more firmly against him. When he pulls her against him and opens his mouth a little, she eagerly deepens their kiss as well, moaning when their tongues meet.

Angling her head and anchoring her hands in his hair, she shudders deliciously against him when one of his hands strokes her back and the other twines lovingly in her hair.

Belle could have kissed him for a very long time, but they have to come up for air eventually. When they do, he rests his forehead against hers and his hands on her waist.

"Do you suppose that has done the trick?" he asks rather hoarsely.

For a long moment, she doesn't understand what she's talking about. Then she reluctantly looks away from him to check on the two men below, who are gaping up at them as if they see water burn.

"They look too confused to do anything at all."

"Good," he mutters, his hands still right above her hips. "It seems your plan has worked."

"Do you want to come in?" she asks before she can think better of it, not wanting him to go now – or ever, really.

"To... send another message?" the landlord splutters hoarsely. Now  _he_ is the one looking at her like all of this is a hallucination.

"I'd be very happy if you stay. Not because of them, but because I'd really like to get to know you better," she says more carefully, belatedly realizing that she just basically propositioned _Mr. Gold_. "Because  _you_ are the one I like being with."

Belle places her hand on his chest, feeling his warmth and his rapidly beating heart through the many layers he wears.

"It'd be my pleasure," he replies, sounding almost timid. "After you?"

He opens the already unlocked door for her and follows her inside, further separating the two of them from Sean and Keith. Belle shivers happily when his hand finds its way to the small of her back once more, lingering there this time.


	12. Wishful thinking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 2017: round 2.

Belle forgets about her dinner when her phone alerts her to the update of her favorite online story, right after she has seated herself at Granny's. Clicking on the link to  _A Lady's Secret Diary_ , she is immediately lost in the life of Lady Belle in the Enchanted Forest. She was rather surprised when Neal recommended this kind of story to her, but she's very glad that he did.

The heroine of the story is as adventurous and brave as Belle tries to be in her own life. They have the same first name and, coincidentally, have pale skin, dark hair and bright blue eyes. But yet more than her formidable characterization, she enjoys the character's relationship with Rumplestiltskin the most.

The imp courts Lady Belle like just about every other suitor in the realm. He may have reptilian eyes and skin, loathed by everyone, but because of his genuine affection and wit he's the one she wants to marry.

Now they're finally in the lady's chambers for the first time, just the two of them. Rumplestiltskin is as timid as ever, but eventually hands and mouths are wandering with almost tangible excitement and eagerness.

Still, just when it seems that the imp is finally going to give in to their mutual desire and toys with the satin ribbon in the lady's hair, Belle has reached the end of the chapter.

She sighs in disappointment and delight alike, immediately scrolling back to read the chapter again. Clenching her thighs, she sees herself in the place of the leading character who is like her in so many ways - except for the most enjoyable part.

Really, how wonderful it would be to have a friend and lover like Rumplestiltskin, all generous devotion, gentleness and passion.

Reaching the end of the chapter again, Belle shifts restlessly in her seat as she taps on the name of the author. His profile is as empty as it has always been, revealing nothing at all about the writer who arouses her more than someone in her real life ever has.

Finally getting started on her by now cold food, her eyes instinctively land on Mr. Gold. The solitary landlord physically obviously hardly resembles Rumplestiltskin, but she finds herself thinking that his lithe build, crooked nose and shoulder length hair, not to mention his snarky wit and old-fashioned manners, aren't all that much unlike the sorcerer.

Out of nowhere, Belle wonders what  _he_ would be like as a lover… what he would be like with  _her_. Somehow, the mere thought of being with him just like the couple in the story affects her yet more than the fiction itself did.

She admires him when he gets up to leave the diner, his movements graceful and confident. His rear may not be clad in tight leather, but the sight of it is very pleasing nonetheless. She follows him with her eyes until he is out of sight.

Quickly finishing her meal, Belle is eager to get home, to the privacy of her bedroom to be exact. Her eyes glued to the screen of her phone, she imagines Mr. Gold and herself as the romantic couple when she reads the chapter for the third time.

When she reaches the stairs leading up to her apartment above the library, she bodily collides with someone in the dimly lit alley. She would have fallen if it weren't for two strong but gentle hands on her arms, keeping her steady. Her phone however goes flying.

Before she can reach for it, the other does so as well. A jolt almost like electricity going through her at the accidental touch, she quickly reaches for the item at her feet which the other must have dropped.

The item in question turns out to be a small, much used notebook. Her eyes widen when she reads the words which are neatly written on the front.

_A Lady's Secret Diary._

Her gasp is mirrored by the person opposite her. Her heart beats rapidly in her chest as it dawns on Belle that she in all likelihood has found the author of one of her all time favorite stories, in her own town of all places… and that they still hold her phone displaying its latest chapter.

"I believe this is yours," a hoarse voice says, the person it belongs to handing her phone back to her.

"Thank you, yes, I…"

She falters when she looks up and finds that this person is none other than Mr. Gold. Finding out that  _he_ is the one who wrote the highly sensual fantasy of two characters resembling both of them closely, is yet stranger than if she would have encountered Rumplestiltskin himself here in Maine.

"You're writing this?" she asks, taking her phone from him to hold the display up for his inspection.

He tenses when he reads its contents only then, clearly recognizing it.

"You're  _reading_  this?!" he exclaims, looking rather pale all of a sudden.

"I am," she says softly, taking this chance to examine him now that she's closer to the distant landlord than she ever thought she would be.

"I… I'm awfully sorry for this, Miss French. I never intended for you to know… That's hardly an excuse, but please believe me that I had no malicious intent when…"

"What are you talking about?!" she asks, rather distracted by the elegant shape of his face and his delicious scent.

"I… you… you read that, didn't you? So you must know…"

"Must know what?" she inquires when he falters, gesturing at her phone helplessly.

"The characters in the story, they're obviously…"

"They're  _us_."

"Again, I'm so sorry that you read that, Miss French. I can only hope… I hope that it doesn't make you feel uncomfortable. I'll obviously take the story offline and destroy the physical copy."

He reaches for the notebook she's still holding, but she keeps it out of his reach, cradling it almost protectively against her chest.

"No, please, don't! There really is no need for that. I didn't make me feel uncomfortable; in fact, I really,  _really_ like it. I'm  _glad_ that you wrote this, and I'm glad that I read it."

"You… you are?"

"Yes! Although I wonder why you wrote it if you yourself are uncomfortable with it?"

"You don't want to know that, Miss French."

"I very much do, Mr. Gold."

"It's because… this is the only way I can ever be with you - in a work of fantasy fiction."

He lowers his head, his beautiful features shielded by his hair. He doesn't see that her mouth falls open - before forming a broad smile - when he all but professes his love for her.

"My son encouraged me to publish the story online when saw me writing so often," the landlord continues quickly, as if to tell her everything now that he has found the courage. "He obviously didn't know what I was writing about. I didn't think you'd ever read it, otherwise I would never have put it on the internet."

Belle almost burst into laughter at how wrong he is in thinking his son doesn't know about what -  _whom_  - he is writing… and how grateful she is to Neal for recommending the story to her after persuading his father to make it available online.

Still, the landlord avoids her gaze, even when she questioningly rests her hand on his lower arm. Belatedly, she realizes why he's so embarrassed: Mr. Gold doesn't see Rumplestiltskin's unique look and character as something to be intrigued by, to  _desire,_ but as a metaphor for a wholly unlovable person.

"Did it never occur to you that I might like you very much as well? That this story made me see that I want to get to know you much better… that I want to  _be_  with you?"

He looks up after all, but his expression is one of complete confusion and disbelief. No matter how good he is with written words, he doesn't seem to be very accomplished at listening to them.

Sensing that the only way forward is to  _show_ him how she feels about him, Belle steps closer towards him and tentatively cups his cheeks in her hands. When she leans in, he does the same.

The brush of his lips against hers is hesitant at first, but soon he's kissing her back in a way which even puts Rumplestiltskin's somewhat clumsy but  _very_ enthusiastic and enjoyable kisses to shame.

"I very much like to think that non-fictional people can have a happy ending too," she says after they break away eventually. "Why don't we go somewhere more comfortable? I'd love to hear your thoughts for the next chapter of the story."

He nods eagerly, offering her his arm. Knowing Rumplestiltskin and by extension Mr. Gold, there'll hardly be a consummation anytime soon. But both impossible men doubtlessly have other very enjoyable ideas which they can't wait to share and try with their Belles.


	13. Lady's choice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 2017: round 3.

Sir Rumplestiltskin is feeling nostalgic when he makes his way through Lady Belle's castle, his exhausted body and worn clothes heavy with the efforts of war. How appropriate that the final defeat of the Ogres came practically on her doorstep, that they can celebrate their victory in the very halls where both of them spent so much time as part of the King's council.

Still, the knight knows better than to get ahead of himself. No matter how much he is looking forward to seeing Lady Belle again after having been away for battle, he's very much aware that he can't possibly mean to her what she does to him.

All of that is forgotten when he enters the room where he was sent to get changed for the victory feast. None other than the lady of the castle herself is awaiting him, a broad smile appearing on her face when she spots him.

"Sir Rumplestiltskin!" she exclaims, spreading her arm and rushing towards him.

"My Lady," he breathes, as always struck by her radiance and bearing.

To his bewilderment, she looks like she's going to  _embrace_ him. No matter how much he would like to be held by her, if only for a moment, he can't soil her dress and especially not her flawless skin with his blood-soaked clothes and grimy limbs and hair.

Indeed, he can't soil her with  _himself_ , old, low-born, landless and battle-scarred as he is.

His hands instinctively raised to keep her from touching him, Sir Rumplestiltskin is confused yet more when his refusal of her nearness is met with apparent disappointment.

"It's so good to see you again, good sir," she says rather tensely, stepping away from him. "I can't express how relieved I am that you returned from the battlefield without sustaining any injuries. This war has already taken such a toll of you."

The knight winces at the pain in his recently mangled ankle and the implicit reminder of yet another reason why he isn't nearly good enough for her.

"It's very good to see you again as well, my lady," he murmurs, stepping towards her despite himself, leaning heavily on his walking stick. "I'm very glad to find you in good health."

"I missed you," she says softly.

"I… I missed you as well," he breathes, her shoes entering the line of his sight as he continues to stare downwards, not knowing what to do with himself. "Very much."

Two years ago, he knew better than to join the throng of suitors - many of them young, noble, handsome, rich, strong; rivals for her hand in marriage. He has only grown to admire Lady Belle more, he is  _longing_ for her, but there's no way that she'd ever consider  _him_ to become her new husband after Sir Gaston was killed in battle only a few moons after marrying her.

Still, Sir Rumplestiltskin can't help but wonder whether this is what it's like to be in love… what it might be like to feel her hand against his undeserving skin just once.

"Shall we talk about how much we missed each other while you take a bath before changing for the feast?"

"I…"

He splutters, torn between his confusion over the steaming bath he spots behind her only now and the implication that she apparently wishes to continue this conversation while he's taking said bath.

"Let me help you?" she asks softly, reaching for the fastenings of his jerkin.

His mind can't fully process any longer what's happening, but somehow his body can… and very much  _likes_ these proceedings. When he nods shakily, she for all intends and purposes begins undressing him.

That's how Lady Belle - impossibly kind, brave,  _beautiful_  Lady Belle - pulls his shirt over his head as well, leaving his chest bare. As if that isn't bewildering enough yet, she also undoes the buttons of his breeches and, when he doesn't stop her, pushes them down his legs along with his smallclothes.

He has never been more aware that he's small and slender compared to any man, let alone a knight, and older than many of his peers.

Sir Rumplestiltskin swallows heavily when he's stark naked right in front of the woman he has developed such strong feelings for. This is, in a way, almost as terrifying as facing down three Ogres… but infinitely more exciting and wonderful at the same time.

Her gaze roams all over him with distinct interest before she smiles in apparent approval and encouragement. For the first time, he allows himself to freely let his eyes go over her body as well. His mouth waters at the sight of her gentle curves and pale skin, and an increasingly more prominent part of him twitches in response to this visual examination.

It's completely beyond him why any of this is happening, but he can't help but be grateful that it does. It was a privilege in its own right to become her friend during the war; this, whatever it may be exactly, is however something else entirely.

"The water is getting cold," she remarks, her voice rather hoarse and her face flushed.

Being in a rather similar state, Sir Rumplestiltskin limps towards the tub and gratefully accepts her help as he gets into it. With a thoroughly contented sigh, he slips into the pleasantly hot and soapy water, letting it soothe his aching muscles and wash away the grime on his body.

"I  _may_  be available for further assistance, if you like," she says, gesturing at a wash cloth.

His answering nod is probably far too eager, but it doesn't deter her. The few previous instances in which he could take a warm bath are nothing compared to the sheer bliss of Lady Belle washing his hair and the upper half of his body with tender and clever hands.

Never having been touched like this before, he is in a haze of happiness and, indeed, arousal. When her ministrations falter and he mentally resurfaces somewhat again, Sir Rumplestiltskin finds himself leaning back against the edge of the tub and her chest, her dress drenched.

"The reason that I met you here like this… well, other than being able to do  _this_ with you…I wanted to talk to you in private."

"What do you want to talk about?" he asks, rather convinced that he'll hardly be able to speak at all if she continues this.

"Now that the war is finally over, it's time to start considering the future. Since both my father and my husband are dead, it's entirely up to me to produce an heir to ensure the continuity of leadership."

"You're… you're asking me to father your children?!"

"I'm asking you to be my husband, and father and raise  _our_ children, yes."

"But… how… why  _me_?! You could have anyone…"

"My first marriage was brief but… difficult. It made me see only clearer how important it is to have a husband whom I can trust, who respects and supports me rather than trying to take my lands and people for himself. If that person in question also makes me  _feel_ the way you do… well, that choice isn't difficult at all, Sir Rumplestiltskin."

His mind reeling, the most outstanding thought in his mind - and, well, elsewhere - is that he should reciprocate, to do everything he can to make her feel as wonderful as she does him.

"Would you enjoy being bathed as well, my lady? By  _me_ , I mean?!"

" _Yes_ ," she practically moans, momentarily looking as if she's going to join him in the tub and ask him to move his hands over her shoulders, back and chest exactly like she just did for him. "But we'll be expected at the feast soon. At least we can announce our engagement there. We can be married by the end of this week."

"We can?!"

"We can, if you want that as much as I do."

"I do, Lady Belle. With all my heart."

"Not just your heart, I hope," she murmurs meaningfully, glancing down his body through the by now mostly transparent water, the soapy bubbles long dissolved.

"With all of me," he whispers, his arousal stronger than his embarrassment of being seen like this at the prospect of being her  _husband_.

"I suppose we do have time to finish bathing you…  _all_ of you."

"Are you… are you  _seducing_ me, my lady?" he brings out, gasping. "Right now?!"

"I may be. Would you like being seduced by me right now, Sir Rumplestiltskin?"

"Yes, by the gods, I do. More than I can tell you."

"In that case, I  _am_ seducing you,  _husband_. Right now."

Laughing in disbelief, exhilaration and pure happiness alike, Sir Rumplestiltskin trembles with desire and love when she shifts her hold on him. One of her arms wrapping around his shoulder and his head still pressed against her chest, he groans in eager anticipation when Lady Belle slides her free hand slowly down his belly.


End file.
